Power Struggle
by Passionworks
Summary: Contest entry for RoseWriter112. Claiming the throne is a struggle made only for the brave at heart. Firelord Zuko and his wife, Mai rule a nation of prosperity, and they share a son who will one day take their place...


**Author's Note: Hmm, this just might be the first sign of the apocalypse… I'm not writing an Azula fic this time! But, no worries; it is all in good reason. This is a Maiko story for my good friend, RoseWriter112's contest for the pairing. If any readers are aware of my Azula trilogy, you all would note that I do support Mai as Zuko's wife (and that obviously means down with Zutara. Sorry to offend Zutarians, but I just detest pairings that become overkill if written, and Zutara is, well, the most overdone pair of all). Just on a side note: this, in no way, shape, or form, correlates with my trilogy. Consider it an AU.**

**It is all based on the contest's prompt, "Our First Child." As many fans know, I've focused on Azula having children many times before, but not Mai, so this is a totally new perspective for me. The question is: can I pull it off?**

**My entry takes place over ten years after the closure of the series. Zuko and Mai are peacefully leading the Fire Nation and heading the Restoration process. Azula is out of prison and is married (to whom she's married to is largely uncertain. Draw your own conclusions) with three kids, and a fourth on the way. And yes, friends: Azula is extremely OOC; I already am aware of that. She served her time and prison and recovered from her illness, so she basically has no desire to be that heartless witch she was in the series… Mai only recently blessed Zuko with an heir, and this child is about seventeen months old. Their son, Ryu will be the focal point, obviously, and he's the one that will emerge through the battle he faces. This effort will seem pointless outwardly; but in the essence, it is a whole lot more to those who open their minds…**

**For those who don't quite understand the symbolism, the throne is represented as the object of status and power. I applied an extended metaphor of a power **_**struggle**_** with the throne (hmm, and that seems to be where the title derives from). Heard of "climbing the ladder of power," or "achieved status?" Yeah, **_**that's**_** where I'm coming from.**

**Oh, and for the sake of a story, I changed the throne chair's design. I understand that on the series, it's flat against the floor, but, for my purposes, it is elevated. I only recently realized that I was tainting the furniture of the Fire Nation…**

**I want to thank Rosey for personally requesting that I join her Maiko contest! I hope this meets your expectations!**

Power Struggle

By: Passionworks

"If we exert ourselves to one single goal, then the weight of our own expectations will founder atop us," stated the Dragon of the West, an elderly, shrewd figure, one considered an archaic, grizzled relic of a nation's age-old attempt to seize command of a world not built to withstand the dominion a single leader could offer. "However, if we channel our energy toward any number of separate entities, then a malfunction is avoided –we will fail to grow weary from our endeavors. Why nourish the individual when you can supply for the whole brood, I ask you?"

The lesson passed on to the young…

"Perhaps it is second nature to pursue one dream, to better one flaw, to acquire one particular mass of knowledge, but do we not see where this falters us?" he asked with dignity. "Why, think of it in terms of a tipping scale. If we pay no attention to balance, then the contraption would most assuredly tilt over. Now, consider equilibrium. Equal distribution defines the proper transmit of our forces. Continuing on in this manner will ensure achievement."

The lesson retold through the generations…

"History has a negative outlook on our nation, and as citizens, we carry the stigma. We shoulder the regret held from greedily swallowing more than we could chew. Historians have mulled over our previous cause and established their own opinions. Now that we understand the error in our ways, we can look past them without turning back. The greatest aspect of life is the knowledge that the coming generations are our best feet forward. Repetition of the past can easily be dodged if we continue to feed the young this information."

The lesson transferred to another…

A smile. "What have we learned today?"

The captive audience was, more or less, disinterested, for the most part, at least. Just a rowdy cluster of lads no older than ten years of age, their parents observing close by. Three were Azula's boys (of course, being that she was yet again in the delicate condition, there was a fourth now a good eight months in the making). One child was a sturdy chap, the eldest in the group at nine years. Old enough to fully comprehend the lesson, mind a few big words far too advanced for his growing vocabulary; the sprouting young pupil waved his little hand in the air, a huge, contorted, clownish grin plastered on his face.

He overlooked the old man's question, but drew his own conclusion. "Grandpa, isn't it true that Uncle Zuko's declaration of the Restoration is an application of this lesson?"

Forever the scholar, and forever the egotist, the youngster folded his hands over his lap and stuck his tongue out at one of his less exuberant siblings, waiting ever so patiently for his well-deserved praise. A smaller boy –a youthful six-year-old –gasped, mouth agape, turning to his mother in the hopes that she would straighten the matter out herself. Tattletale…

The frazzled mom gestured her annoyance with a dismissive flick of the hand. "Boys, show some respect for your grandfather," she unenthusiastically scolded.

Although she seemed to speak for all her children, the youngest of Azula's brood was, by no means, involved in the argument. At two-and-a-half, this shy little one clung to the dressing gown blanketing Azula's rotund, pregnant abdomen. In the midst of this dispute, he sat beside her, his rosy cheek touching her breast as he suckled on his thumb. His eyes were blank as he stared out across the room. Quite eager to take a nap, he nodded off every now and then; nevertheless, he was frantically hoping his mother would not sternly provoke him and instruct him to listen. Too tired to offer such a reaction, Azula caressed her son's inky, pitch-black hair with her left hand, elongated fingers teasing each tress like silk. She massaged her expecting belly with the other, feeling her unborn babe kick at her palm. The little boy relaxed and melted in her embrace.

"Yes, son," the patient gentleman finally answered after the commotion died down to a hushed whisper. He rubbed the full, colorless beard that entwined his chiseled jaw. "My nephew holds these newfound principles in high regard. Today, the Restoration effort has expanded to all corners of the globe, and every nation sees its benefits."

"We are 'channeling our energy toward separate entities,' right, Grandpa?" the middle child asked in a satisfied tone, though a few words were mispronounced and scrambled in his rather feeble attempt to outdo his older brother.

Really, the aged Iroh was not quite over the fact that these boys persistently referred to him as their grandfather. The real title belonged to the disgraced Ozai, but he tragically died one winter night in his prison cell not long after Azula announced her latest pregnancy. An unidentified infection had plagued him for years, and it finally tugged him down to the grave. He was probably better off there anyway.

"Why, yes, certainly, my boy." He patted the youth on his scruffy head. Well, to be honest, at least he was still impressed with these _grandchildren…_ They were all he had, considering that his own son, Lu Ten died long before his prime.

The second-born slyly smirked in acknowledgement of his triumph, which was caught in an instant by a now highly attentive Azula.

She rubbed her temple and frowned deeply. "Young man, we don't act like that."

"Yes, Mommy…"

Iroh ignored the banter. "And my nephew will pass this message down to his son, won't you Zuko?"

The Firelord kindly beamed at his seat. In his lap, his seventeen-month old son, Ryu slumbered contently; failing to absorb what was largely intended for him. No worries, thought his delighted father, he will hear it soon enough. The infant was Zuko's firstborn, and the nation's designated heir.

"When he's older," answered Firelady Mai. Raised as the proper, stereotypical female, she usually remained predominantly silent, but she spoke up when matters such as this presented themselves. She was a grave, stoic type, one known best for her flat appearance: she rarely smiled, rarely laughed, rarely acknowledged her emotions at all.

"Yes," Iroh said after emitting a gentle breath, "and one day soon we will see him take his seat on the throne and work to maintain the honor of the Fire Nation…"

_One day soon,_ indeed…

………

There was stillness, quietness, as if the world was out of consciousness, barely making an effort to break at the hem of the horizon. The halls were empty, not even a servant stirred. Lights went unlit, shadows rested on the floor, lacking the energy to dance.

And one child, a lively, animated soul, found this situation unpleasing. This was Ryu's point of view. He was a daring, but quiet little lad with lovely features, much like his respected father. His eyes were caramel, though in the sun, one might mistake them to be molten gold. His hair was as dark as a raven's feather, cut short, modestly, and his limbs were long, but not disproportional to a tot of his age. He was not the most boisterous boy in the palace, but he was rightfully considered spirited. Azula's kids, his cousins, were older than he was, aside from the unborn one. They played rather roughly, and for his own safety, he was instructed to stay at a distance from them.

Ryu was alone, as usual. His parents were attending some meeting off on Ember Island. They were estimating a three-day departure from the palace, long enough for their son to grow bored from the lack of hustle and bustle. They had left him some new toys to play with for the time being, but he was much too curious to consider a few stuffed things entertainment. The two of them had left the seventeen-month-old in Azula's care, and being that she was heavy with child, there was little chance that she was going to be available. She was mainly on bed rest, but she willfully allowed the boy to hop up on the bed and curl up beside her at night as she read a book or two aloud for all four children to enjoy. But books only kept him busy momentarily; their plots were easily forgotten in the tangling mass of his learning capacity. He yearned, ached for more. A reminiscent Azula often said he was just like his father. Too much so, as she often put it. He was impatient and overly inquisitive, whatever those words meant, anyway.

Today, Ryu was standing outside the heavy door leading to Azula's bedroom, grasping one of the stuffed playthings –a much too furry platypus bear –by the neck in his left hand. He heard his aunt's soft snores –or, were they groans –from where he stood, but soon felt his presence was intrusive. Defeated of much purpose, he toddled off, groping at the wall to keep him on his feet for the long trek down the pathway. He stopped to rest from time to time, huffing lightly, but audibly. He was not surprised to finally see a servant shuffle her feet across the mat in an accelerated fashion, carrying a tray of wet rags in her shaking hands. Confused by her rapidity, he shrugged his shoulders as she passed him. The hurried girl had failed to acknowledge the unsupervised boy.

Capitalizing on his freedom, Ryu marched on, one foot in front of the other, steady, balanced, focused. As he pressed further down, his grip on this toy tightened, strangling the stuffing beneath its seams. He glanced suspiciously at a few closed doors; this was a wing he had never ventured through before; he imagined it to be the servants' hall. He was aware that many of the female minions had small children of their own to support, since, in general, working as a lackey paid relatively well. Although both Zuko and Mai preached to him the values of equality and union, he was warned not to mingle with the servants' offspring. As to the reason why, it was never expressed.

A few more servants made their rounds here and there, exchanging swift conversations with one another. Ryu took note of their clothes: some were torn, some were smooth, but all wore the signature faded red. A few had robes much too long for their figures, and the rest carried shirts too short over their shoulders. Nothing was perfect here; honestly, even the wing itself was not well kept. He paid it no mind, and was back on his way again.

Little Ryu had no particular destination in mind this day –not that he ever did. He followed his feet, those wobbly things, until he reached a hole in the palace where a sheet with a Fire Nation insignia was draped over the entranceway like a flimsy aegis. He dropped his stuffed animal and stroked the material, attempting to swish it past him as to see what was hidden on the other side. He managed after a few tangled trials and waddled past it with little worry.

………

Golly, the room was massive, cave-like. To Prince Ryu, it almost seemed cooler in there; as if this section was cut off from the rest of the palace, but it was by far the most intriguing part he had seen in a long time.

There were ornate chairs decorating the floor, all painted and molded from gold. A table, like an alpha wolf-lion, stood in the middle, a map of the now prosperous world draped on its top. Ryu investigated the accessories with delight, snooping underneath each chair with fascinated interest.

But something all the more fascinating caught his eye.

The throne, his father's royal seat, was open wide like an impending hug. Each armrest had decorations that glistened, even in this looming darkness, and the cushion of the bench was a most peculiar bloody crimson.

Shoving one of the minuscule chairs to the side, he toddled to the stairway leading to the throne and climbed up them with little difficulty. Once his naked feet met the coldness at the top, he stood on edge, awed by the presence of something that seemed to swallow him down its invisible maw, but he was silently beckoned to march up its triumphant figure. Ryu had been told this throne was to be his on a future date, whatever that meant…

His baby fingers grasped the chair's legs. Just like the arms, the feet had their decorative aspects: swirling inferno-like designs formulated from gold. The flatness of the material made for an easy clutch, but planting his feet was a trick less easy to accomplish. They slid a number of times and set him back to square one without even remotely fighting back.

Sitting on his diapered bottom, Ryu scratched his fuzzy head and caught his breath. But, like a leopard making several attempts to plant a carcass up in a tree for safety, he charged back up with only revenge on his mind. Treating the leg like a thick branch, he straddled it with his arms and knees. Once over this hurdle, little Ryu clutched the seat cushion with his left hand and pulled himself farther up. In his attempt to slide into the chair, his foot slipped and he tumbled back, but his grip on the cherry-colored material saved him from a broken tailbone. He dangled like a lemur, but utilized his elbows and pushed himself with a weary grunt.

At last, his nose pressed into the front of the throne. Heaving in his tiredness, he swiveled his tiny body and faced the stage…

………

"Milord," Firelord Zuko's private advisor said, shaken, "I have no honest inkling as to where your son might be."

The Firelord rubbed a hand through his raven-black hair in frustration, his wife pacing at his side. "We were only gone three days, squire. How long has it been since someone last saw him?"

"This morning, we presume, at least, that is what your sister, Azula told me."

"Azula? Why wasn't she watching him as I ordered?"

"Milord, Princess Azula went into early labor this morning. She delivered her fourth son just hours ago. She's exhausted, Lord Zuko, and quite apologetic for allowing your boy to go missing."

Zuko pondered this. "Well, now. Send her my congratulation, squire. And send for a batch of servants. I might require their assistance."

The advisor bowed. "Yes, sir."

………

"The throne room is the last section of this wing to be checked," the squire informed Zuko and his wife. "If Ryu managed to trek from the princess' bedroom to the throne hall, I'd be quite impressed."

"Silence, squire," growled the testy Firelord, "concentrate on finding him."

"Yes, milord."

The trio was silent for the rest of the way. Once they reached the throne room, it was more than obvious that the flowing entranceway had been tampered with. The parting in the middle was overlapped, an obvious sign of an intrusion. A toy animal was in front of the room as well, a sure sign that his son was somewhere ahead.

Zuko had not the patience to wait for an impending lecture from his squire, and hurriedly swished the aegis to the side.

There, sitting like a perfect portrait on the throne, was little Ryu. He cocked his head at the sight of his father.

The Firelord blissfully smiled, his wife doing just the same behind him.

"There you are, my son."

"Dada!" Ryu shouted, making his way to the edge of the seat.

"Hold on, buddy. Let me come to you first."

He grasped the little boy by his armpits and slid him off the seat. By the time Ryu wrapped his flimsy arms around his father's neck, he was already giggling up a storm.

"Well, Ryu," Zuko said with a laugh of his own," now that I see you're safe, let's go visit that new little cousin of yours…"


End file.
